


Fate Loses Hold

by rainingover



Category: K-pop, Winner (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainingover/pseuds/rainingover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first throes of love & the mistakes thereafter.</p><p>(They meet in December at a Christmas party hosted by a mutual friend of a friend, whose name they will never remember.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fate Loses Hold

They meet in December at a Christmas party hosted by a mutual friend of a friend, whose name they will never remember.

They're not each other's type.

One, with a soft cotton tee stretched over pale shoulders, hand clenched tight around a gin and tonic (his liquid lifeline in a party full of people that he half knows and half doesn't want to), tucks hair behind his ears and dips his head.

The other appears in a gust of wind, wearing a well-worn vest cut low; his sneakers dragging wet snow into the room. He's bleary, but well meaning, as he cuts a slice of Christmas cake and laughs as it crumbles.

They crash into each other, literally, beside the drinks cabinet.

One is already unsteady on his feet, although he's only been inside the party for all of five minutes.

"Mino," he introduces himself post crash. His arm outstretched, his smile crooked, eyes filled with amusement as he waits for the soft cotton tee to return the gesture.

But the other man simply replies, "Okay." He doesn't take Mino's hand. Pours him a drink instead.

(Later, _much_ later, the soft cotton tee will say to the well-worn vest, "I thought you were an idiot."

"I am," the vest will reply. And he will mean it with every fibre of his being.)

It takes two hours of catching eyes across the room for Mino to find the courage (in the bottom of a drink, of course) to come up with a reason to place himself next to the cotton tee again.

He saunters over and picks at a tray of food with disinterest, trying to give off an air of mystery (which had seemed a lot easier from across the room). He can't tell what any of the food is meant to be, just knows it's meant to show the guests that the host is well refined and probably vacations on sandy beaches in sunny climates several times a year.

(Two hours after this, after four more drinks, after he has coaxed the cotton tee out of his perfectly formed shell and kissed him in the bathroom, he will accidentally knock the tray onto the floor, and feel conflicted pangs of guilt and joy as unidentified flakes of pastry are trampled into the carpet by pairs of heels and brogues and the odd pair of sneakers.)

Mino gives up on the tray of food, clears his throat and says, "I didn't catch your name, before."

"I didn't throw it." Eyebrow raised, pursed lip, the cotton tee is trying his hardest to stay unaffected. Doesn't want to flirt with the half drunk mass of tanned limbs in inappropriate party wear, but can't help himself regardless.

"It's Taehyun." A woman in a red dress floats past. Taehyun is sure he's never met her, let alone how she knows his name.

"Taehyun," Mino says it as though hoping it will bring some memory swimming to the surface of his alcohol addled brain. "Have we met before?"

"You wouldn't remember me, if we had?" Taehyun feigns offence. Is definitely flirting now.

Mino grins. Is glad he found that courage to come over. "You're right. We haven't met. Sorry, by the way, about earlier at the drinks cabinet. Maybe I can take you to dinner some time to make up for it?"

When Taehyun replays their first encounter in his mind afterwards, he can't remember if he actually agreed to this or not.

\--

Dinner (after kisses) turns into a fast food eaten messily on the subway after midnight. The food is lukewarm and soggy, and it is, in effect, the worst first date Taehyun has ever had, but it feels right, somehow.

\--

They spend the next two days tangled in bedsheets, and eat fast food twice more until Taehyun snaps. Buys an entire fruit basket from a mini mart and sits it on the wonky coffee table in the corner of Mino's tiny, ramshackle apartment. It stands out beautifully, like a jewel atop bare earth.

They eat pomegranates and grapes and lick the fruit juice from their fingers, sigh and press fruit flavoured kisses into each other's mouths.

Taehyun shivers and Mino notes that, "The heating got cut off." Despite the little Taehyun knows about the new person in his life, this doesn't surprise him even a little. Thinks, it could have been cut off last week, could have been cut off last year. It doesn't matter to him - he's warm within minutes, anyway. Bodies pressed close, flushes of heat and heartbeats racing.

\--  
  
On Monday morning Mino says, "You shouldn't leave."

"I have to go home and get clothes to go to work in," Taehyun laughs.

"Come back afterwards?" Mino's fingers against his skin.

"If I can remember the way."

(Spends his walk to the bus stop in a fairytale, picks out landmarks on the way to remind him of his journey, wonders what would happen if he just never went back. Left the clothes he wore to the party on the floor of the apartment of the clumsy man with strong hands and went on with his life.

Can't imagine doing so.)

Taehyun is on his back atop creased bedsheets again by 7.45pm and it feels as though this is the way it's going to be forever.

\--

"Are you staying here for Christmas?" Mino asks one afternoon, as if he's asking what Taehyun wants for dinner, or if he likes the movie on television, or if he has ever swam in the ocean.

Taehyun struggles to prepare an answer. Almost says, "Yes, of course." Feels as though staying tangled in Song Minho is now the most natural thing in this universe. Instead, he says, "Staying for--? You've known me for _three_ weeks."

Mino doesn't miss a beat. "It's been that long already?!" He winks afterwards, and then looks away, traces patterns on the bedsheets with his fingers.

They spend Christmas Day wrapped in blankets, and each other. Trade kisses instead of gifts, watch, cheerful, sentimental movies that Taehyun has always hated, and hold hands under blankets, distract each other from the end of the story.

\--

Taehyun goes to work in January and can't stop smiling. Tells an inquisitive colleague, "I'm seeing someone." Adds, "It's nothing serious."  
  
(But it is.)

His colleagues ask, "What does he do?"

Taehyun shrugs, "This and that." It's what Mino had told him; had shown him a couple of sketchbooks one night, traced cityscapes and characters with the tips of his fingers. "He's freelance."

(Struggling artist, no heating, a penchant for take-out. Strong hands.)

He visits his mother, who asks, "Who are his family? What is his past?" and Taehyun waves a hand. "Can we eat dinner, instead of holding an interrogation about my love life?"

It's just-- They haven't talked about pasts or people or anything solid, really. Have talked about futures and fragments of dreams, of travelling to far corners of the globe, of abstract ideas like the concept of time. Have climbed out onto the window ledge and stared up at the city sky, have pressed their bodies together and not talked at all for hours on end.

Taehyun thinks, there is plenty of time ahead to talk about who they are, where they have been. But, regardless, his mother's incessant need to _know,_ turns cogs in the back of his mind every so often.

\--

"Tell me about yourself," Taehyun manages in between kisses one night. "Your past-- have you always sold your art for a living?"

"Kind of."

Kiss.

"And that means?"

Kiss.

"Yeah." - Kiss - "I'll tell you everything tomorrow."

Kiss.

The conversation ends, kisses take over and tomorrow the questions are forgotten.

\--

It's months later, the first throes of love becoming the steadiness of a relationship _,_ when Mino rolls over one morning and says, in an unusually decisive manner, "You're the kind of guy that needs things like central heating in his life. No, _deserves_ it."

Taehyun scoffs, "You do that well enough in bed." Stretches, drags his body off the mattress, rolling socks over his feet. He hopes he has a clean work shirt around here somewhere.

"Seriously, though. I-- I have a friend. A friend of a friend. He has this job coming up, I'm going to help out. It'll hopefully pay to get the heating fixed."

"An art job?" Taehyun pats a rogue crease from his trousers.

"More-- Selling stuff? I'm not sure." Mino is rolling tobacco, concentration etched into every feature. When he lifts the cigarette to his mouth, Taehyun notes that he looks more vulnerable than he ever has done before.  
  
"I've worked with him in the past. It's --" Mino pauses to rummage around in the depths of his pockets for a lighter, forgets what he was saying. "Ah, here it is. Hey! maybe I could take you somewhere hot? Our first vacation!"

Taehyun takes in eager features, bright eyes. Buttons up his work shirt and has a vision of looking out over white sands at an ocean, can practically smell the salt air, taste the waves. Says, "Two weeks of you shirtless? Sounds _very_ good."

He stubs his toe on a leg of the wonky coffee table as he evades his boyfriend's roaming hands, laughs as he says, "I can't be late to the office _again_."

\--

Taehyun is late to the office.  
  
He ducks his head as he passes by his manager's desk, smiles to himself at the photocopier.

"You have that look on your face I used to get." His colleague glowers at him. The sad one with thinning hair and a mustard stain on his shirt pocket. "Before the divorce."

Taehyun says, "I don't know what look you mean." (But he does.)

Knows he's more in love than he ever thought possible, especially considering the source of this feeling is a struggling (sometimes) artist, who smokes too much and forgets to buy milk and will never fix that coffee table.

"You romantics," his colleague is muttering, nicotine stained fingers clenching white papers.

Taehyun would have laughed at this turn of phrase a while ago. Never considered himself a romantic. A cynic, maybe.  
  
But, now, he just shrugs, lets a smile break out across his face. Says, "Let me photocopy that for you," because he has a boyfriend with no matching socks, who is good with his hands, and maybe he is a romantic after all.

\--

"I think it was fate." Mino breathes into Taehyun's ear some days later; hot breath against cold skin in the dead of night.

"What?" Taehyun is tired, folds himself into Mino's arms; fits neatly, _perfectly_.

"Us. The party. I wasn't going to go, I was already drunk, I'd been at a club. I-- I was a mess, right? But I turned up. And you were there." Mino smiles.

"Yeah," Taehyun agrees, presses his body back against Mino's.

"Yeah, it was fate?" Mino checks.

"Yeah, you were a mess," Taehyun grins. Laughs as Mino's huffs against his neck.

An hour later, Mino's eyes closed, eyelashes fanned against his skin, hair a crown atop the pillow, Taehyun whispers into the darkness, "Thankyou," just in case fate might be listening.

\--

A warm evening at their favourite restaurant. Taehyun plays with his cutlery absent-mindedly. Says, "I'm getting a raise next month. I might get my own place. I'm too old to be living with my mother."

"No, it's nice that you're close to your family." Sincerity in Mino's voice. "And, anyway, you practically live at mine."

"I know, but I feel bad. It's _your_ place. I should start contributing. I'll get the heating fixed, and let's go shopping at the weekend, pick out a new coffee table to replace the-" Struggles for the right word. "- o _ld_ one."

"Hey! I made that beautiful table."

"No you didn't."

"Had you worried for a second, though, right?" Mino grins. "Look, I know I've not-- I've not had much money coming in lately, but I told you about my friend a while back, right? Well, I'm leaving town on Tuesday."

"The job's out of town?" Taehyun knows his concern is showing in every feature of his face; has never been able to hide even the smallest of emotion.

Mino leans across the table, squeezes his hand. "It's only for a couple of weeks. And then when I'm back we're going to have central heating and go on vacation, and I'll buy you an amazing new coffee table."

"I don't really need a new-- What _is_ the job, though?" Taehyun asks. But, as though the universe times every event perfectly to keep him in the dark, a waiter appears at his shoulder as the last word leaves his mouth. Says, "More wine, sir?" and Taehyun's question is left to linger, like a tapestry never finished, threads fraying at the edges of Taehyun's nervous system.

He swallows his sense of fear with red wine, kisses Mino breathless under streetlight on the walk home and decides not to worry.

Lies in bed and imagines a billion grains of sand disguised as silk under his toes, feels Mino under his skin and tells himself that it will all work out.

Is a romantic and not a cynic these days. At least, to an extent.

\--  
  
Mino leaves, hopeful, well meaning, thoughts of a future with a man with soft lips and softer hair.

He doesn't return. Is given a new home behind bars.

(Jumpsuit, no take-out, no bail, no smokes, no sunlight.)

He gets one call. Dials Taehyun's number with heavy fingers. "I've been arrested."

"Why? What were you--? What's going on, Mino?" Taehyun is in the office, sweaty palms against his desk. Hushed tones, voice cracking.

"The job was..." Mino trails off. Can imagine Taehyun's worried face, wishes he could rewind, be back in bed, pressed close to him, before he chose to grasp at a chance for money, before he let himself be talked into breaking laws.

"Are you being charged with something? Mino, should I come to-- Where are you, exactly?"

A crackle on the end of the line. Quiet voice. "I'm sorry, Taehyun-ah. Don't-- Just look after yourself." He sounds distant, drained. "I love you."

\--

Taehyun keeps a key to Mino's apartment. Pops into the check on the place, even though there are no pets, no plants, nothing living.

The room feels like a mausoleum, or maybe just an ode to a dying relationship.

He sees the woman in the red dress at another party. Sly smile and raised eyebrows as she says, "I heard your boyfriend got busted."

Taehyun leaves before dessert.

\--

The next time Mino calls, they agree it will be the last.

A cotton tee cries in the kitchen at 4am, and a jumpsuit lies still, listens to shouts from along the corridor. Let's a silent tear roll down their cheek. Thinks of pomegranate seeds and fast food wrappers, of desperate kisses in the dead of night, and of hair tickling bare skin in the morning.

Taehyun's brother says, "You dodged a bullet there." Pats him awkwardly on the shoulder.

His mother says, "What were you thinking? He was a bad one." The way mother's do. Pulls him into a tight embrace, lets him sob on her shoulder. Whispers "Bad one" repeatedly as she strokes his hair, like a mantra, over and over again.

Taehyun whispers, "He's not bad, he made a mistake, he--," But he lets his mother shush him. He doesn't expect anyone to understand. He doesn't understand either.

\---

Life returns to normal after a while.  
  
Inane small talk at the photocopier with the colleague with yellowed fingers and stained shirts, and dinner with friends who place reassuring hands on his forearm, tell him they "know just the person to set him up with", or "we can be single together", or make a point of talking about anything _but_ relationships (Taehyun appreciates these people the most).

Taehyun moves out of his mother's house, gets a puppy, works hard, takes up night classes on Art History, flits in and out of casual relationships.

(Thinks about strong hands and fruit kisses and talking of a white sand scattered future with an artist who may or may not have made a crooked coffee table less and less, but still thinks about these things all the same.)

\--

Decembers hurtle into view, New Years ring out and Januaries roll in apologetically.

This happens four times; four sets of calendar years race by, moving life with them.

And then--  
  
The usual party invitation he rarely accepts, early December, people forcing themselves into festivity.

Taehyun stands on the boundary of the room, half joining conversations, half wondering why he is here. Talks about a recent break-up, a recent promotion, a recent hair cut.

Taehyun tries to block out the over-sentimental record that is playing behind the conversations. The lyrics are something to do with Christmas being a time for loving, for joy and sharing and a lot of shit that Taehyun may or may not be too cynical to really appreciate.

He is thinking of leaving, when a gust of wind signals a latecomer at the door. One who trails in wet snow, grinning at the host as they hand over a bottle of wine.

The latecomer doesn't see him at first, is busy knocking shoulders with unsuspecting guests at the drinks table. Apologising, cutting Christmas cake and laughing as it crumbles. He spots Taehyun from across the room soon enough.

Mino is beside him before Taehyun has a chance to blink.

He says, "Hello." Nothing more, nothing less. Eyes bleary, but sincere (were always sincere).

Taehyun realises, too late, that he isn't holding a gin and tonic, has no natural defence against the raw wave of emotion washing him away. His breath hitches in his throat as he nods in response.  
  
Mino isn't sure what to say next. Has spent years imagining this day, and knowing he wouldn't know what to say when he saw Taehyun again, had never bothered practising anything (just in case he fate took that as a sign he was over-confident of it actually happening).

"I thought I saw you on a bus once." He swallows, awkward conversation with the man he left behind. "But, it wasn't you."

"No," Taehyun replies simply. Eyes downward, taking in the dark patches on the toes of Mino's shoes, wet snow still melting in the heat. More appropriate clothing this time, though, he notes. Blue jeans, dark shirt, no tie.

Taehyun is wearing dark jeans and a cotton tee, just as Mino remembers.

"What have you been up to?" Mino tries again.

Taehyun wonders if this is a dream. "Just-- working, socialising. I got a dog. I don't know, normal stuff. You?"

"I'm assistant to the artistic director for a magazine in the city now," Mino replies. "I-- When I got out, I started to send my portfolio out, wanted to get a steady income. Pay my heating bill on time and all that." He smiles, trying out a joke, a memory of a previous life, bittersweet on his tongue.

Taehyun feels himself relax a little. Smiles. He's genuinely happy to know that Mino is doing what he should be. Is where he should be in life, where he _should_ have been, years ago.

They don't speak for a while, just accept tiny, pretentious crudités from a silver tray and contemplate them with suspicion. Catch each other's eye and laugh.

"I messed up," Mino breaks the silence, runs a hand over his face. "I ruined the best thing I ever had in my life. Lost someone, maybe forever." The end of the sentence almost sounds like a question as it escapes his lips.

Taehyun brushes his hair behind his ear. Says, "What would you say if you saw that someone again?"

"I'd-- no bullshit, right? I'd say I'm sorry. I'd say that I love you and I still miss you every day and-- I'd ask if we could start afresh, right back to the start."

And Taehyun lets the wave ride over him. Wants to punch Mino right in the face, wants to kiss him senseless, wants to break down and cry, or laugh, or scream. Wants to do it all.

Instead, he nods slowly and says, "Do you want to eat Mcdonalds on the subway together?"

Mino has never been asked a question to which he is so sure of the answer. "I want nothing more."  
  
\--

They slip away from the party, watch their footsteps break through fresh snow, push past a crowd of teenagers and into the nearest fast food outlet, giddy with the feeling of starting over.

Taehyun says, "I wasn't going to go to the party."  
  
Mino replies, "I'm so glad you did." Hands him a drink, lets his fingers linger as they brush against Taehyun's.  
  
"Maybe it was fate," Taehyun replies, pretends to be being sarcastic, but deep down he thinks he probably means it.  
  
They board the subway, sit side by side and sneak glances, tracing each other's faces for new lines, new marks, anything that might have changed, whilst they rip open paper bags, try to dip fries into tiny tubs of ketchup, laugh as their fingers are coated with salt.

(The food is lukewarm and soggy, but it is, in effect, the best first date either man has ever had.)


End file.
